


Living or Dying on the Edge

by ClinksandDrinks



Category: Dickensian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pure sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClinksandDrinks/pseuds/ClinksandDrinks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief insight to (what I hope was) Arthur's thoughts on the roof in episode 20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living or Dying on the Edge

Staring up at the moon, Arthur breathed deeply. Was he really going to do this? His heart too strong to take back what he saw as rightfully his from his sister, would it falter now?   
But, oh, how easy it would be, to step from the roof, into the unknown. Heaven or Hell, the prospect of neither appealed to him, but there was no place in Heaven for him, for someone who had done what he had done. No chance of redemption for someone as deprived as himself; as lost as he had been over the past few months, his awareness of his disease was his string out of the maze. He always knew where he stood in his hatred of himself.

Inching forwards, releasing the chimney. There was no fear in death, only in the uncertainty of life. After the tragedy at Statis house… what did life have in store for the great Arthur Havisham? Drink? That wasn’t so much of a life as a means of surviving. Perhaps death would be better… more dignified than spending his remaining money on alcohol and becoming destitute, resorting to more… unseemly means of surviving. The act of falling, not even jumping towards his abyss, seemed graceful, more gentlemanly, even.  
The breeze of the wind, caressing his bruised body and abused spirit, pushed him towards the edge, egging him on, begging him to complete this mission, an act of wholesomeness in a life of pain and wretchedness. Echoing in his ears, the sound of the wind. We will love you, even if nobody else can. Stay, Arthur, stay with us.

“Your father loved you, Arthur.”

I… I cannot.

The response is a lived blow to his surroundings. Stronger now, the wind forces him to the edge of the roof, shoving, bribing, baiting him into the annihilation of Arthur’s only remaining possession; his life. He fights, the need for strength, need for life, the need to prove to himself, his sister, Compeyson, Jaggers, that he isn’t as pathetic as he sees himself. His need for acceptance never extended to himself, though he will have to consider it now; the only other person who will remain in contact with him is Jaggers, and he doesn’t need the acceptance of Jaggers, only to be able to pay him. 

He says it again. 

I cannot.

Stronger, more confident this time. He cannot end his own life, it was never in his nature. He knew he was too self-pitying to fall, as so many would have wished, so what was he still doing on the roof?  
A rush of cold, moonlit air hit his lungs, choking him. He leapt backwards, bittersweet relief colouring his mind and veins. Short, rapid breaths, quickening heart beat, thoughts a marathon a minute. No, Havisham, not today. 

Your sister needs you. You do not deserve your suffering ended so soon, for hers will not. Your life mayn’t be worth much to anybody, but you have a duty to at least try. Try with your sister. Because if you don’t, a void will absorb her heart and rationality, and you obliterate any limited hope you have of a revival of your childhood. 

Not today, Arthur, came a soothing, familiar voice. You are still needed here.

Not today, Havisham, repeated a voice that instilled fear into Arthur’s heart, and would until the day he died. I am not finished with you yet.


End file.
